


Better Than the Best

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Star Trek, The Closer
Genre: AU, Crossover, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a last hurrah at Starfleet Academy, Brenda Leigh Johnson had done pretty damn well for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than the Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imustgofirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imustgofirst/gifts).



> This is another incentive fic for i-must-go-first. The prompt for this fic was “academy” and she specifically requested an AU setting. In honor of the Star Trek con we're attending, I couldn't resist taking the characters of The Closer and setting them in the Star Trek ‘verse. Therefore, this may border on ridiculous, but I had a helluva lot of fun writing it. Please let me know what you think. Comments are good for the soul.

Cadet Johnson made her way through the bustling dormitory, resolutely making up her mind to ignore the pounding in her skull. She could have had time for a hypospray if she hadn’t spent an extra twenty minutes in front of the mirror, perfecting the French twist in her blonde hair and adding just a touch of not-strictly-regulation lip gloss over her lips. She didn’t feel great, but she knew it was far more important to look as perfect as possible on what was sure to be the most important day of her academic career.

She nodded a curt hello to Cadet Tao as she pushed her way through the wide double doors, stepping out into the warm, humid morning. It was unseasonably warm, though the wind drifting in from the bay was a welcome reprieve. She paused for a moment beside the monument of Zefram Cochrane, closing her eyes while she inhaled great lungfuls of salty air. Her heart was racing; she’d nearly overslept. She’d nearly blown her chance, and for what? A drunken one night stand with some stranger? 

A very sexy, older stranger. 

Hangover momentarily forgotten, Brenda Leigh shivered pleasantly as she recalled the memory of the woman’s dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as she invited the cadet back to her hotel. They’d forgone the synthehol once they’d transported to the woman’s temporary quarters, delving straight into a bottle of the finest aged whiskey Brenda had ever tasted. When they had abandoned the booze and delved into each other, Brenda thought she’d never recover. There was something about that woman…

For a last hurrah at Starfleet Academy, Brenda Leigh Johnson had done pretty damn well for herself. 

It was time to put that aside. She opened her eyes, casting them skyward as she imagined the stars hidden from view behind fluffy white clouds. Beyond the cerulean horizon awaited her destiny, and it was time to face the meeting that would decide her fate. She could brag and bask in the afterglow of her one night stand later. 

The San Francisco campus of Starfleet Academy was humming with end-of-the-year activity, and Brenda drank up the frenzied excitement as she narrowly avoided getting lost amongst the crowd in her attempt to find the correct building. She’d only been to Admiral Pope’s office once before, and that had been four years prior when she had sought him out to thank him personally for his letter of recommendation into the academy. 

She wondered what to expect now that her tenure at the academy had come to an end. Would he simply accept her request for the posting of her choice, or would she have to argue her case? It hardly mattered; Brenda was a smooth-talker, and she knew that Admiral William Pope couldn’t refuse to give her anything she asked for. He’d certainly been more than appreciative of her warm thank you when she was a first-year cadet. 

Before the elevator doors opened, she glanced at her reflection in the glass. Her gray and yellow uniform was crisp and clean, fitting her as if it had been designed solely for her lithe body. The golden yellow signifying her position in the Operations division set off her pale skin and brought out the gleam of her brown eyes, which brimmed with hope. She took a deep breath, and the elevator doors opened. 

With a fortifying breath laden with an infusion of confidence, Brenda presented herself at the desk of the woman stationed just beyond the bank of elevators. “Brenda Leigh Johnson, here to see Admiral Pope.” 

The woman’s smile reached her black eyes. “They’ll be with you momentarily.” 

_They?_ Brenda’s heart began to race again. She couldn’t recall any mention of a _committee_ \--

The Betazoid woman leaned forward, having clearly intercepted the cadet’s cascade of frantic anxiety. “There’s no need to worry. It’s only Admiral Pope, Commander Taylor, and Lieutenant Commander Raydor. You’ll do just fine.” 

The blonde smiled wanly, wishing now that she had gone for that hypospray after all. She pressed her clammy fingers against her neck, her thumbs brushing against the four oval pips fastened to her collar. She’d come a long way from Georgia, had struggled to stand out from beneath her father’s legendary shadow as the captain of the USS Defiance, had cunningly worked her way to the top of her class. She could not-- _would not_ \--allow herself to be shaken by this trio of men who would decide her fate. 

There was a buzz of an intercom and the woman, Lena, gently pulled Brenda from her reverie. “They’re ready for you, Cadet Johnson.” 

Brenda nodded curtly and, holding her head high, entered the door to the right of the imposing desk of Admiral Pope’s assistant. 

The Admiral greeted her with a warm, too-familiar gaze as he welcomed her into his office. “Cadet Johnson,” he stated, dispensing with the salutary greetings in favor of grasping her hand in his, squeezing firmly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I’d like to introduce—“ 

But Brenda Leigh had tuned him out as he introduced Commander Russell Taylor of Starfleet Command, because her gaze had fixed upon the only other woman in the room. It wasn’t so much that Brenda had assumed the committee would be comprised by men so much as it was the fact that this woman was just any woman. 

She was _that_ woman. The sexy, older stranger from the night before. Her drunken one night stand. 

Brenda calmly shook Commander Taylor’s hand and allowed herself to be introduced to Lieutenant Commander Sharon Raydor, whose green eyes possessed a cool calmness that Brenda had not seen the night before, even hidden behind a pair of austere glasses. No—she had never caught this woman’s name, but those green eyes had been alight with passion and intensity and the mere memory caused the hair on the back of the cadet’s neck to stand on end. 

“Cadet Johnson,” the lieutenant commander stated coolly, shaking her hand as if those fingers had not been buried deep inside Brenda some five hours earlier, “I’ve heard many things.” 

Brenda nodded, eternally grateful that there were no obvious telepaths in the room, and swallowed the sharp comment that had been ready on her tongue. The cadet was at a clear disadvantage; Raydor had access to her dossier, but Brenda had never heard of the other woman before. She hadn’t caught Admiral Pope’s explanation of which division she was a part of, though the gold of her uniform signified that she, like Brenda, was a member of Operations, though it was clear that she must be someone important if she was a member of Brenda’s committee. Had this woman known who Brenda was the night before, when Brenda was making her come with her face between her legs? 

At Admiral Pope’s insistence, Brenda took a seat in front of his wide desk, her headache throbbing persistently now. She wondered if Raydor had gotten herself a hypospray or if she was in a similar state. For all intents and purposes, she was the picture of perfection; not one hair of her elegant coif was out of place, though Brenda couldn’t forget the image it had created the night before as it fanned out against her naked back. 

“How does it feel to be on the cusp of graduation?” Admiral Pope asked, clasping his hands together atop his desk. 

“It feels surreal, sir,” Brenda replied, attempting to ignore the steely, watchful gaze of the lieutenant commander. “I’m very much lookin’ forward to beginnin’ a career in Starfleet.” 

“One might say that your career began the day you first put on that uniform,” Raydor said. 

Brenda was excellent at reading people—she knew that Commander Taylor was scrutinizing her and Admiral Pope was wondering if her undergarments were Starfleet regulation—but she couldn’t read Sharon Raydor. The woman was not all that much older than Brenda was, but she carried herself with a rigidness that aged her, distancing herself as the Starfleet officer. As a woman, Sharon had been no farther than a breath away, and Brenda could still recall the scent of vanilla on her heated flesh. The woman had been easy, but the officer was an entirely new animal. Was the comment a challenge, or merely an acknowledgment that they were in the same division? It was not lost on Brenda that the only two women in the room wore gold while the men wore red for Command, but the cadet could not find it in herself to feel any sort of kinship with the officer. “You’re right, sir. I’ve dedicated my life to Starfleet. You _could_ say that I began my career in Starfleet in the womb.” 

Raydor raised an eyebrow, and Brenda felt her own cheeks flood with heat at the unexpectedly audacious remark that had left her tongue. 

“Aah, Captain Johnson,” Commander Taylor responded with a wistful sigh. “How is your father these days, cadet?” 

“Very well, sir. Enjoyin’ retirement.” 

“Good man, your father,” Admiral Pope added. “You know, I always could see you following in his footsteps. He was an excellent commander. If your records are any indication, you’re a chip off the old block, aren’t you?” 

Puzzled, Brenda smiled. 

“That said,” Raydor interrupted, shifting where she stood, “I find it curious that you are stepping outside of the Johnson legacy of command to pursue a career in Operations.”

Again Brenda’s cheeks flamed, but before she could bite back a response, Admiral Pope interceded. “I see you’ve submitted an application for Advanced Tactical Training.” 

“Yes, sir. My dream job is to one day work for Starfleet Intelligence.” _Or run it,_ she thought. 

“Advanced Tactical Training,” the commander repeated, nodding slowly. “Incredibly rigorous and very tough to get into. Most cadets wash out within the first few months.” 

The underlying implication that Brenda may very well be one of those cadets set her teeth on edge. “I am aware of its challengin’ reputation, sir, but I am confident that I would be among the few to thrive in the program. All I require is a special recommendation from a superior officer.” As the words left her mouth, Brenda Leigh suddenly understood. 

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence before Commander Taylor continued. “You’ve excelled in most of your classes—your command coursework was considered above par for someone outside of the track. It would be a shame to lose that natural, innate ability.” 

“You have a real talent for command,” the admiral agreed, “just like your father. Not many non-command cadets show that kind of aptitude.” 

Brenda knew she’d need an extra-large hypospray after this meeting was over; she felt ready to scream or throw up. How had her dream become appropriated by these men who had no idea what her true qualifications were outside of a list of grades and the so-called Johnson legacy? Before she could stammer out an objection, the lieutenant commander spoke up.

“According to your file, cadet, one of your professors remarked that you lack tact in command simulations. Your performance indicated that you prefer to shoot first and ask questions later, which is hardly ideal for a future commander of a vessel.” 

“Who said that?” Brenda snapped, immediately forgetting the acknowledgment of Raydor’s rank. 

Raydor’s eyes flashed, studying the younger woman intently before the admiral barreled on. 

“Should you consider to apply outside of Ops, you would be given the most cutting edge, advanced training possible. Any shortcomings you’ve displayed in your coursework would be overcome within in a matter of weeks.” 

_Shortcomings?_ Brenda scooted up to the edge of the chair, her back rigid and shoulders set. “Any shortcomings I have _displayed_ are due to my concentration in Security.” She swallowed back the vitriol and added, “Sir.” She could feel her temper flaring in her incredulity. Who were these _men_ to decide that her passion meant nothing? Did the fact that they proudly sported maroon uniforms give them the right to commandeer the dream she harbored and nurtured for the past four years of her life? 

“If I may, Admiral, I believe that the choice belongs to the cadet.” Though the two men bristled at the cool tone of her voice, she turned her gaze to Brenda and took off her glasses, carefully folding them and enclosing them in her fist. The cadet shivered, confronted by the face that she’d mapped with her fingertips in the early hours of morning. “What is it that _you_ want, Brenda Leigh?” 

The blonde’s mouth went dry. Three pairs of eyes zeroed in on her, to say nothing for the looming invisible presence of her father who had surely spoken with the admiral prior to the meeting. _You,_ she had wanted to say—and the sudden force of her want for this woman astounded her. “I’m a security officer. I’m good at what I do. I want to be accepted for Advanced Tactical Training. I want to be the best, and I believe I would be an asset to Starfleet Intelligence.” 

“Are you prepared to be pushed beyond your limits, challenged and tested until you reach your breaking point? Are you ready to be better than your best?” Raydor asked this slowly, carefully, enunciating every word as if to ensure that everyone in the room heard her. 

“Yes, sir, I am.” 

“Then I believe the decision is clear,” Raydor said pointedly, and Brenda nearly gaped at the blatant disregard for the admiral’s rank. “Admiral Pope, I will be making my personal recommendation to my superiors for her acceptance into our program. Congratulations, Cadet Johnson.” The lieutenant commander smiled at her then, and Brenda felt awe--and butterflies. 

The woman excused herself, leaving Brenda alone with the two men. Their disapproval was apparent, though to the cadet’s surprise their persistence to persuade her to switch divisions had ceased. She had expected the barrage to continue after the officer’s departure and was surprised to see the incredulous smile on the admiral’s face. 

“Congratulations, cadet. You passed your first test.” 

“Sir?” Brenda blinked in confusion. 

“Lieutenant Commander Raydor rarely makes personal recommendations in favor of cadets. I hate these meetings—they’re always so damned depressing,” the commander offered by way of explanation. “You must have impressed her.” 

“But I thought—“ Brenda looked back at the door, imagining that she could still smell the woman. “I thought you were tryin’ to convince me to take a post in Command?” 

“That had been my goal, yes,” the admiral admitted. “But once S.I. got wind of your application, Raydor personally requested she conduct your admittance review. You know, Russ, I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed that woman say yes before.” 

“Neither have I.” Commander Taylor straightened his uniform and extended his hand to Brenda. “Congratulations, cadet. The offer is still on the table, should you change your mind.” 

“Thank you, sir.” She then shook the admiral’s hand and saluted them both. 

When she was dismissed, she wandered into the hall, feeling dazed and elated and hungover and aroused and confused. Lena gave her a wink as Brenda passed the assistant and the row of elevators, instead heading for the unisex bathroom at the end of the hall. She paused in front of the mirror and observed her reflection, staring for long moments before finally allowing her face to break into a grin. 

She barely heard the flush behind her, focusing instead on imagining just how proud her mama would be to learn that she had been accepted into the program of her choice. She could almost see her cadet pips dissolve away, leaving instead the perfectly round signifier of her soon-to-be promotion to ensign. 

“You don’t have to pinch yourself,” came the cool voice behind her as it emerged from the stall, “this is all really happening.” 

_Of course._ Brenda made eye contact with Raydor in the mirror, feeling her cheeks once more bloom with color. She gave a slight smile. “I know. I’m very gra—“ 

Raydor held up a hand to stop the outpouring of gratitude. “Do you know why I chose you, cadet?” She leaned in to wash her hands, her eyes never leaving Brenda’s. 

_Because I made you come three times last night?_ Brenda thought. Though she said nothing of the sort, the flash in those intense green eyes indicated that Sharon Raydor knew exactly what Brenda was thinking. Her own face flushed slightly. 

“I didn’t choose you because of your record. You are overconfident, and that leaves you in the vulnerable position of making mistakes that you choose not to acknowledge. You will have to work to overcome that hubris, and it’s not going to be easy.” She dried her hands, smirking as Brenda’s smile faded into a thin line. “I chose you because I’ve never seen a cadet defy a commander, an admiral, and the ghost of her father. It’s the 24th century, but it’s still a man’s world, Brenda, and we need more strong, tenacious women like you in Ops.” 

Brenda wasn’t sure if she should be offended or pleased, and chose instead to tilt her head to the side and ask the question she knew she shouldn’t ask. “I have a question for you—off the record.” 

“If you’re going to ask if I knew who you were last night, the answer is no.” 

The blonde smirked. “Actually, I was curious if you’d made up your mind to accept my application before or after you realized who I was?” 

The brunette suppressed a smirk. “Last night had nothing to do with my decision, cadet. It was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you when _you_ walked into the admiral’s office. And as enjoyable as last night may have been, our relationship must remain strictly professional now that you are working under me.” 

Brenda grinned, feeling immensely satisfied to see that the woman, not the officer, was staring at the shape of her mouth. She licked her lips for good measure. Perhaps it was the high of receiving her acceptance. Perhaps it was the afterglow of a night of amazing sex. Perhaps it was the anticipation of training beneath the command of Sharon Raydor on a small vessel in the recesses of space. “Well, Lieutenant Commander, I very much look forward to workin’ under you. I can promise you that I’ll do better than my best…and you _won’t_ be disappointed.” 

The older woman visibly shuddered, and Brenda’s grin widened as she headed for the hall. 

She had some bragging to do. 

\---


End file.
